#hphm lore

[tiny-chiro]

OC CHALLENGE (finally an advance)

A funny thing happened and that is that the main drawing didn't technically fulfill the main requirement, so I made that little extra above where he is actually eating.

I also wanted to add some lore:

Lesson on how to cut an apple: One of the first things White teaches his children is how to cut an apple into the shape of a rabbit, it is based on explaining how one looks better than the other independent of them both being at their base the same. The lesson as such has two purposes, the literal one of how to cut an apple to look like a rabbit and that they can change their appearance or behavior to please someone else even though they are the same, but that is understood between the lines. This lesson is always taught to crowen family members from an early age due to the reputation of being creditors of bad news or disasters, having a twisted personality and not having a shred of empathy for others. “No matter how much you fix yourself or change on the inside you will still be a cursed bird that is rotten.”

[adellovesrowan]

please, don't ever worry. i know it's morbid,

but we all die one day.

.

OR au where they both die + they reunite in death and look cool about it so i don't get too sad :)

[mizutoyama]

The joy of going through all my Kindle highlights to take notes of all the folkloric magical creatures/beings and items mentioned in one book of folktales from Scotland to try and integrate them into my rewrite of the HPHM adventure (because those vaults deserve better… and that tiny sweater from the Forest vault still befuddles me).

[carewyncromwell]

"You want a ride to fame? I've got the fastest route! What's it gonna be? Are you in or out?"

x~x~x~x

HPHM Cardverse developed by @ariparri // Rakepick's outfit // Duncan's outfit // the more "court-worthy" outfit Duncan eventually bought for Jacob

x~x~x~x

The day Jacob Cromwell first arrived at the palace of Spades, he earned more than a few skeptical side-eyes. It was hard not to judge Jacob poorly, when he strolled inside dressed in clothes more appropriate to working in a mechanic's shop than in one of the most powerful royal courts in Cinderhaven. His black slacks and white shirt were clean and his boots were polished, yes, but he'd rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and the lone pop of color in Jacob's outfit -- his red suspenders -- were far too informal for such a setting. And yet Jacob walked with his head held high, almost arrogantly so, and went straight to work in his new workshop just down the hall from the office of his boss, the also very recently installed Jack of Spades, Duncan Ashe.

One of those most skeptical of Jacob -- at least at first -- was the Ace of Spades, Patricia Rakepick. She had been the one hold-out in selecting Duncan as Ulrich Scheller's replacement, citing his young age and subsequent lack of experience as rationale, but she'd ultimately been overruled. Not only did the King of Spades, Oskar Doyle, support Duncan's promotion, but the Queen of Spades had agreed with it too, before her tragic death. Even Ulrich Scheller himself was steadfast about Duncan being the one to take his old position.

"Mr. Ashe may be young, but he has discerning judgment -- far better than even I had at his age," the former Jack had said. "I've always valued his counsel as my subordinate, and I think the Court of Spades will come to appreciate that very same counsel once he takes my place."

Rakepick was not convinced. And, to be fair, it was hard for her not to feel some resentment at how seemingly easily it had been for Duncan Ashe to climb the ranks of power, while still fresh out of university. Perhaps it was dumb luck or the fact that Duncan was a young man with a good sense of dress from a reasonably well-respected family -- a more objective source might also have pointed out that Duncan was a far more likable person than Rakepick. Even despite his brusqueness, he could be witty and funny and yet also dedicated, down-to-earth, hard-working, and supportive. Duncan chased his ambitions with laser-precision, and yet he also never failed to take helpful input from the people around him. His pride was never so inflated that he couldn't take constructive criticism or admit when he was wrong, nor was it an obstacle to him making iron-clad friendships that gave him people in his corner who stuck with him solely out of sincere enjoyment for his company.

Rakepick's critical view of Duncan Ashe, however, completely justified her initial suspicion of Jacob Cromwell. This suspicion quickly flickered out, though, when she made a point to stop by the Jack's stooge's new workshop.

It was still quite early that morning — most of the King’s, Jack’s and Ace’s staffs had only just started their work for the day -- and yet that oddly chipper new "favorite" of the Jack of Spades' was already hard at work. He’d arrived a good half hour before his scheduled shift and used that extra time to hang up the blueprints for the couple dozen projects he'd already hashed out to show "Ashe" when he arrived later that morning. Then, at his formal start time, Jacob set about testing out his new power-saw (which the curly-haired young man had fanboyed over when he first saw it) to cut out a metal skeleton for his blimp prototype while also making some alterations to the blueprint on his desk.

By the time Rakepick dropped in, she found Jacob in the midst of a short "break" in his work, which entailed him adjusting the screws on a device set up under his desk.

Because Jacob was so preoccupied with what he was doing, he didn't get a good look at who had entered. And because he was so used to being an overworked part-time mechanic, cook, and librarian, his first instinct was not to stop what he was doing, introduce himself to the person, and ask how he could help them, but to greet the stranger cheerfully without even looking up from his work.

"Hey there! Come on in and look around if you’d like — I’ll be right with you!"

Rakepick cocked her eyebrows at the young man largely obscured under the desk, tightening the screws on what looked like the foot pedal of an old sewing machine. With a roll of her eyes, the Ace looked around — only to be startled by the prototype hanging over her head.

It resembled — for lack of a better term — a small mechanical dragon, with its “head” and “limbs” cut into halves hanging from separate wires. The wings were crafted out of aluminum, carved wood, and fabric, and the “body” was a balloon with multiple model stairways attached to it and aluminum “legs” hanging off of them and cut open to show off rooms on the inside. Even the head (adorned with two thick lightning rods as horns) was cut down the middle to show off a miniature cockpit on the inside.

Rakepick actually raised her gloved hand to shift the head around, her eyes widening with interest upon the intricately designed interior. It even had a miniature control panel with what looked like tiny fuses. When she tapped at one of the levers inside the model, two spotlights appeared out of the dragon’s mouth, casting a light down onto the multiple blueprints laid out on the desk.

"It’s a modified blimp," said Jacob’s voice from under the desk. "Those mouth lights would be hydroelectric-powered, via collected rainwater -- I originally thought of using solar power, but too much concentrated heat could run a risk of the thing catching fire, since the blimp itself would use hydrogen...much less rare alternative to helium…"

Rakepick raised her eyebrows. "Hydroelectric power, you say?"

Didn’t Duncan Ashe bring up something once about hydroelectric power in one of his meetings with Ulrich Scheller…?

"Yeah!" said Jacob cheerfully, still not looking up. "I brought it up to Ashe a while ago, shifting our main source of power away from coal and toward hydroelectric -- and he thinks it’d be a great way to save money for other projects. Plus water's much less hazardous to work with…though if coal can be mined more safely, I reckon it could still be used, just in smaller amounts…still need to make a prototype or two for that project…"

Then this person was where Duncan Ashe stole that idea from. Rakepick pursed her lips. It seemed this new Jack really was good at getting credit not rightfully owed him.

"But hey, there's only so much time in a day!" Jacob laughed to himself. "Only sent my letters of resignation in yesterday morning — didn't really have time to get all these ideas out of my head, before that…"

Rakepick glanced around. By her count, she could see five unfinished blueprints hung up on the wall, one more and several printed graphs on the work bench next to an old phonograph, and what looked like a row of small plant boxes with thermometers stuck in each one.

"…You did all this just in one day?" she asked.

"In half a day, a night, and some of this morning. But yeah."

This boy works hard, thought Rakepick.

"Though a few ideas I'd been ruminating on for a while, beforehand," Jacob pressed on. "I just hope it's enough…I've never worked as any kind of advisor before. Don't really know how much my work will be commission-based and how much will be free-lance…"

Rakepick crossed her arms, considering the young man's spade-gloved hands under the desk testing out the little sewing machine wheel he'd attached to the leg of his desk. Only when he turned it did Rakepick realize it was attached to the phonograph on the desk, and the wheel turning also made the crank handle rotate.

"I think that depends on whether that project on your desk is something the Jack commissioned," said Rakepick, "or if you came up with it for him by yourself."

Jacob laughed. "Oh, this? Nah, this is just a personal project...I wanted to use it back at the mechanic shop, originally, but I didn't have proper room for it...Wyn, my sister Carewyn, she let me keep it in pieces under our window, until I could figure out where to put it -- "

Once Jacob had finished his adjustments, he got up off the floor at last, sat down in his chair in front of the blueprint, and pressed the foot pedal. The pedal made the wheel rotate, which subsequently turned the crank on the phonograph so that it could play the record set on it.

"When the red, red robin comes bob-bob-bobbin' along...along... There'll be no more sobbin' when he starts throbbin' his old sweet song..."

Jacob's almond-shaped blue eyes lit up in delight seeing his invention working right, and he cheerfully sing along to the next few lines.

"Wake up -- wake up, you sleepy head! Get up -- get up, get out of bed! Cheer up -- cheer up, the sun is red! Live, love, laugh, and be happy..."

Rakepick's eyes trailed over the modified phonograph, along the careful metal-work attaching the disparate pieces and the screws securing them to the work bench. All this effort and inventiveness, for something this boy wasn't intending to get any reward for from his employer...

Rakepick's lips curled up in a very slight smirk. She had to admit -- she was impressed.

Still pedaling away to play the song on the record, Jacob finally looked up at the person who'd entered his workshop with a smile. That smile dimmed, though, when he realized just who he was talking to.

"Oh," said Jacob, startled. His foot stopped pedaling as his eyes flitted quickly to the sword at Rakepick's side and the stylized silver-white pauldrons on her shoulders. "Uh...you with the military or something?"

Rakepick smirked. "'Or something.' Patricia Rakepick -- Ace of Spades. And you'd be Jacob Cromwell, of course."

"Uh -- yeah." Jacob looked sheepish.

Rakepick's smirk widened a bit. "You seem surprised to see me."

"Sorry -- I didn't think anyone outside of Ashe's people would be interested in any of this," said Jacob, sounding slightly abashed as he crossed one leg across his lap. "I mean, this stuff's really more for interior projects -- nothing that fancy..."

"You sell yourself short, Master Cromwell," said Rakepick. She once again indicated the prototype of the blimp hanging from the ceiling. "Frankly I'd say with a brain like yours, you could make a rather fine Jack yourself, some day."

Jacob's blue eyes went very wide. Then, almost immediately, his expression gained a much darker look -- one that swept through offense and disgust so thoroughly that it was close to revulsion.

"Uh -- no," he said incredibly bluntly. "Ashe is the Jack."

"I never said he wasn't," said Rakepick, "merely that you're more than qualified for such a position. More qualified than many candidates I could envision as Jack...or King, for that matter..."

"I wouldn't want the post, in any case," Jacob cut her off. "I'm not here to do Ashe's job, or the King's."

So this boy had no ambition in that direction? That was reassuring, to Rakepick.

"Good to hear it," said the Ace, before she added a bit more lowly, "...Though it occurs to me that may be why you were brought here in the first place."

Jacob's eyebrows furrowed. Rakepick folded her arms behind her back as she considered him.

"Mr. Ashe brought up your ideas to the rest of court, long before your arrival," she said grimly. "He's glided to where he is partly on the back of your creativity -- is it so surprising that he'd want to keep leeching off of your efforts and use them to earn further prestige for himself?"

Rakepick's eyes narrowed a bit.

"Your talents are far too impressive for you not to get full credit for them, Master Cromwell. I can think of quite a few projects outside of the Jack's domain that could use a mind like yours -- ones that would pay very well and offer further rewards, for your efforts."

Jacob, however, had already closed himself off visibly -- he slouched back in his chair and crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing.

"No offense, Madam Ace, but I'm not here for money or 'prestige' or whatever. I don't give a damn about politics -- I'm here because I want to do something useful, not prance around like a show horse, schmoozing with people. The only power I care about is the power in my brain and in my own two hands -- and I intend to use them to work really hard and make things that solve real problems. I want to help Ashe and the Country of Spades, however I can."

Rakepick's brows raised. This boy wasn't interested in financial reward either? A truly rare breed, to find at court.

"...That's quite noble of you, Master Cromwell," she said, and she meant it. "And it's for that reason that my offer still stands. If you wish so much to be of use, your talent and creativity would be incredibly useful, in giving the army the means to protect the Country of Spades. Your blimp prototype, for instance -- I imagine it could be a perfect flagship, with some minor alterations and a proper set of guns -- "

"Guns?" Jacob repeated, appalled. "Madam, the blimp of that prototype is full of hydrogen. Anything using gunpowder could risk setting the whole thing ablaze. That flying machine is strictly meant for long-distance transport, to reduce travel time and be more resilient to bad weather..."

"A very good idea, when our King has to travel frequently to other parts of Cinderhaven."

The stylishly dressed Jack of Spades had materialized seemingly out of nowhere and walked up behind Jacob's chair, bringing his hand onto his subordinate's shoulder. Jacob looked up at him, and his expression immediately brightened.

"Ashe!"

"I'm flattered that you approve of my staff appointments, Madam Ace," said Duncan, though his voice betrayed a notable edge, "but as you might've noticed, Jacob has quite a few projects already in the works for his place here, working for me. I'm afraid any commissions you might wish to offer him will have to wait."

Rakepick pursed her lips. She got the feeling that Duncan had overheard a lot more of her and Jacob's conversation than he would've admitted -- he was more than clever enough to eavesdrop for important information before making himself known.

"Perhaps," she granted. She turned on her heel, but paused long enough to shoot a cold smile over her shoulder at Duncan. "But don't hoard him away all for yourself, Mr. Ashe. A young man of talent like Master Cromwell could change the world, so long as he has the freedom to chase his own success."

Duncan clenched his jaw as the Ace strolled off.

"Don't hoard him away" -- you dodgy geebag, if you even think of trying to snatch Jacob up for yourself -- !

"What a weird woman."

Duncan looked at Jacob, startled, to see the man frowning very deeply at Rakepick's retreating back.

"She acts like she's complimenting you, and then she says things that make absolutely no sense," Jacob muttered irritably. "'So long as he has the freedom to chase his own success' -- as if I somehow don't? And insinuating that I'm here to do your job...I'm a technology guy, I'm not here to waste time kissing up to people..."

"Good to know you think I'm wasting time," Duncan said very dryly.

Jacob looked sideswiped. "Huh? What, no -- I didn't say that! I said it'd be a waste of time for me to do that..."

"Of course it would -- I'm already doing it," Duncan cut him off smoothly with a wry smile.

His smile then faded as his face grew more serious.

"...Jacob...what Rakepick said...it's not true, not a bit of it. Of course, yes, I did share your ideas at court -- but I did not take credit for them...I told the former Jack they were yours. And I didn't want you here so you could do my work for me or make me look better. I wanted you here because...well, your ideas are useful, and I..."

I want you around. I want you around all the time, not just at that old tavern every Tuesday and Thursday...

Duncan swallowed, his dark eyes flitting down to Jacob's lips and back up into his blue eyes.

"...I do...want you to succeed. I want your work to be appreciated. All of it -- whether it's for me or not."

Jacob grinned. It made his blue eyes sparkle, even though his face lacked any light of revelation about the unspoken sentiment in Duncan's posture.

"I know, Ashe," he said. "And that's all I want, really, to know my work means something. Sure, the paycheck's great -- " he gave a cheekier grin, " -- makes it easier for me to support myself, Wyn, and Mum, you know...but I took the job because you wanted my help, needed my help. And well, you know me...I like to help people. Especially the ones I care about."

Duncan tried very hard to bite back the flush rising in his cheeks. Somehow Jacob completely missed it, though, because his focus was drawn to the blueprint he'd left on his desk.

"Speaking of which!" he said brightly. He snatched up the blueprint and held it up for Duncan to see. "I sketched out a concept for a new hydroelectric generator, for your upcoming meeting with the King of Spades! I suggested several dimension sizes, since I wasn't sure how big the boiler here is, but I thought the palace would be a good place to test its efficiency and ability to heat multiple levels..."

Duncan looked it over and nodded in approval.

"Not bad," he said, and his lips unfurled in a more mischievous smile. "I think the King and the rest of the court will be very impressed with it, and you, when you accompany me to the meeting."

Jacob was taken aback. "Wha -- ? You want me to -- ?"

"Yes -- but only after I take you shopping for some new clothes. I'm not introducing you to Oskar Doyle in red suspenders."

[smarti-at-smogwarts]

The thing about Jacob is that no matter how you write him you still have at the core of his story a sixteen year old kid who trusted the wrong person and got trapped for years like he’s sixteen and he’s in some magical version of solitary confimenent, He’s sixteen and he has to sit there and not see his friends and family he’s sixteen and his best friend is dead and he can talk to no one and like no matter how smart he could have been how was he supposed to see this coming he’s sixteen and does time even pass in the vault he’s sixteen and the last time he saw his loved ones he probably thought he’d see them again he’s sixteen he’s sixteen

[night-rhea]

What is "R" in my canon?

R is a name of a group of Death Eaters who was responsible of "memories". Erasing, changing and controlling memories. This group has been selected by their Legilimency and Occlumency powers. Some were born Legilimens, some studied it to perfection.

Not only most of them successed to escape from a fate that ends in Azkaban, they are also the reason why some families like Malfoy's are also free.

After Voldemord's defeat, R started to expand with a shown goal of "cleaning the corruption in wizarding world by discovering the secrets and true intention of wizards" and started to recruit more wizards in their organization, who were not Death Eaters. These people often used as pawns for "the greater good" by those original R members.

Some says R was formed by Rhea family before Voldemort rises. Dark lord granted them the Vaults in exchange of their loyalty. After all, their goals was same.

What are Cursed Vaults?

Vaults are places that built especially for to expand the use of Legilimency and its effects. These vaults can be only activated and used by a Legilimens. Tho it mostly doesnt matter either the person were born as one or learned it after, the chances of the host to survive is higher with born Legilimenses.

Vaults gives its host a power of reaching more than one persons mind at the same time. İt gives them a chance of seeing and effecting them all at once. But no power comes without a price.

Vaults uses it hosts own magic power and soul. Hosting the vault often ends with death, but even the host doesnt dies, they will be no longer the person they were. They wont be able to use their magic anymore and they wont remember their most of memories, if not all.

Vaults are located around England, with a plan of using them all at once and reach the all wizards there at the same time. So, why Voldemort didnt use the all vaults? Well for two reason.

One, there were no wizard who can stay alive until Vaults reaches the maximum power, let alone to find more wizard like that. And two, some vaults are believed to be Cursed by the wizards it took the life of. These Cursed Vaults can backfire to its host and instead of allowing them to reach other peoples mind it traps them into their own mind. Until draining their all power and energy, the host cant escape and only death can free them from this torture.

As much as they were powerfull weapons in theory, Vaults were too risky to depend a big plan on them. Without making them the bone of the plans, they were still used for smaller matters.

Like how Rhea's used their vault to clean the records of their curse.

[the-al-chemist]

Artemis Hexley and the Return to the Riddles

Chapter 19: Empowerment

A/N: Artemis returns to the penultimate Vault with more friends than anticipated, and receives a lesson in art history. Warnings: a whole lot of lore drop and discussion of trauma.

With the exam season fast approaching, the Hufflepuff Common Room had turned from a cosy den to a hub of activity. Every armchair, sofa, and table had been commandeered by groups of fifth and seventh year students, their piles of books and scrolls competing for space with the usual decor of scatter cushions and pot plants.

Artemis and her girlfriends were one such group, however, the textbooks in front of them had yet to be opened, and their hushed conversation had nothing to do with schoolwork.

“So,” said Tonks, the armchair groaning softly as she jumped onto it. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

Artemis didn’t even consider her answer. “Good.”

“Ah. Well, I bumped into Moody in Hogsmeade this morning and they’ve still not found out who is passing information to the Cabal from the Auror office-” 

“That’s the good news?”

“- but they’re still telling people false leads,” Tonks shrugged. “So they’ve got it under control. They’ve got plenty of time.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“We’ve not got plenty of time. You two” - she gestured at Penny and Artemis - “and Badeea are looking to go to the Portrait Vault soon, before anyone gets stuck in a portrait again, and then we’ll need to get cracking on the final Vault before the statue curse hits.”

“You’re just full of cheer, you are,” muttered Artemis. 

“At least the dragon guarding it the Portrait Vault is dead already, so that should be easy.”

Beside Tonks, Penny sighed loudly.

“Well, yes, it should, but none of the others have been easy so far,” she said, fiddling with her silver charm bracelet as she spoke. “And besides, we still don’t have any way of getting there.”

Artemis’ eyebrows furrowed deeply. Penny made a very valid point. Two years ago, she and her fellow curse-breakers had travelled to the fourth Cursed Vault using a portrait of the Vault itself, which had been turned into a Portkey. After the expedition had taken a turn for the worse, the portrait had been left inside.

“Maybe we could Apparate,” she suggested. “Rakepick and Jacob both Apparated out of there, it would make sense if we were able to Apparate in.”

“Would it? Apparition requires an accurate destination, and without knowing exactly where the Vault is…”

“Or if it is even a real location,” murmured Chiara, a curious look in her pale blue eyes. “You were only able to get there by a painting of the Vault. What if it only exists inside the painting?”

“But then we’d need another portrait to get inside!”

“Oh!” Penny gasped. “We could get Badeea to paint one for us! She really is very talented, you know.”

“Would that work?” asked Artemis, and Chiara shrugged her shoulders. The girls fell quiet for a few moments, until Tonks slammed her hand down on the arm of her chair.

“Ow!” She winced and rubbed her hand, but her smile didn’t falter. “I’ve got it. I’ve only bloody gone and got it.”

“Got what, Tonks?”

“Okay. So, what if you don’t need that one specific painting to get in? Didn’t you say that last time, you were able to climb in and out of the paintings in there?”

“Yeah, but-”

“And, didn’t you say that your brother was leaving you a trail to follow from one Vault to the next?” Tonks raised her eyebrows expectantly. When none of the girls indicated that they understood her meaning, she sighed. “Come on, Artemis. Remember what you found inside the Forest Vault the first time we went there?”

“The tiny jumper,” said Artemis, and her eyebrows raised as she realised what Tonks meant, “and the painting of the dragon! Tonks, that’s brilliant!”

“Still not the foggiest what that jumper was about, but I bet you anything that if we turn that painting into a Portkey-”

“-it’ll take us into the painting where the dragon lived, and then we can go through the frame and into the Cursed Vault itself!”

“You’re going into a Cursed Vault?” said a small voice from behind Artemis, and all four girls turned to see Beatrice Haywood standing by them. “The one with the portrait curse?”

Artemis knew that there was no point in lying. “Yeah. The Circle of Khanna is trying to go back and break all the curses, for good this time.”

“I want to help.”

“Absolutely not,” said Penny, shaking her head emphatically. “Bea, you can’t-”

“Why not?” Beatrice pouted and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m an honorary member of the Circle of Khanna. Bill taught me how to make a Patronus last year, and I could do it better than some of the actual members, even though I am younger.”

“Exactly. You’re too young.”

“I’ll be fourteen in August. That’s older than you were the first time you went into a Cursed Vault-”

“Yes, but-”

“And I’m the only one here who has actually been cursed before,” Bea raised her eyebrows. “I’m the one who got stuck in a painting for almost a whole bloody year. You have no idea what that’s like, Penny, none of you do.” She shuddered, before telling them, “It was horrid, like a nightmare you can’t wake up from. I still dream about it sometimes, even now.”

Penny blinked as if she wanted to cry and reached out to her sister.

“That’s why I am going and not you. I just want you to be safe,” she said, her voice quietly pleading. Bea rolled her eyes. 

“I don’t need you to keep me safe. I need to keep me safe,” she turned to Artemis. “Please let me come with you. I need to see it for myself, or I’ll never be free from it, not really.”

Artemis looked from Beatrice to Penny and back again. Slowly, Penny nodded her head, her cheeks pale and eyes wide as she did so.

“Okay,” said Artemis. “If you think it will help you, you can come with us.” Bea wrapped her arms around Artemis’ shoulders before running away to find her friends, and once she was gone, Artemis turned back to Penny. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“Not really,” Penny laughed shrilly, and returned to fiddling with her bracelet. Chiara leaned across the table and placed one hand on her wrist.

“You know,” she said, in her softly lilting voice, “it might be really good for her. What happened to her was awful, but maybe going back and seeing it again will help her realise that the Vault doesn’t have any power over her anymore.”

Penny sniffed and smiled, and when Chiara removed her hand, she stopped playing with her bracelet. Artemis frowned as she considered Chiara’s words, before standing up and walking away from the table.

“Oi! Where do you think you’re going?” Tonks called after her, and she shrugged in response.

“To see if someone else needs to see the Cursed Vault for themselves again,” she replied, before walking out of the Common Room and out into the underground corridor outside.

She made her way through the dungeons towards the Slytherin Common Room, and once there, knocked loudly on the concealed stone door that formed its hidden entrance. She waited, and after a  few moments, the door slid open to reveal a surprised-looking Barnaby Lee.  

“Hello,” he said brightly.

“Hi,” replied Artemis. “Um, is Merula there?”

“Where?”

“In the Common Room. Your Common Room,” she added for good measure, and Barnaby nodded.

“Yes, she is.”

Neither Barnaby nor Artemis spoke for several seconds. Eventually, Artemis sighed.

“So, can you go and tell her I’m here? I want to talk to her about something.”

Barnaby smiled good-naturedly and nodded his head, before disappearing back into the Common Room. Nearly three minutes later, Merula came outside and stood in his place.

“What do you want, Hexley?”

“Tonks thinks she might have figured out a way for us to get back into the gallery room outside the Portrait Vault. Bea Haywood is going to come now, too.”

“So?”

“I thought maybe you might want to come with us to break the curse.”

Merula’s expression had not been friendly to begin with, but at Artemis’ words, she looked at her with even more contempt than before. 

“Why?” she asked, in a scathing voice.

“Because of what happened there last time. I know it was really horrid for you, what with Rakepick-”

“Exactly. Why the hell would I ever want to go back there?”

“So you can see that it doesn’t have power over you anymore,” Artemis told her. Merula scowled and turned to go back inside her common room, but Artemis wasn’t ready to give up. “No, wait. Look, Merula, I know how you feel.”

“Really, Hexley? You’ve had the Cruciatus Curse performed on you, have you?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then you can shut up.”

“I felt it, though. I did, when Rakepick used the curse on you. Because of my Legilimency. And it’s not like Rakepick’s not hurt me, is it? Look at what happened to me in the Vault, when she wanted to kill me, and in the forest last year, with Rowan…” Artemis swallowed. “Rakepick was our teacher and our mentor, someone we both thought could trust, but she betrayed both of us, and hurt both of us. And that affected both of us, right? I mean, we’ve both changed because of it, haven’t we?” Merula said nothing, but she looked less confrontational, so Artemis continued, “I know I have, anyway. I didn’t realise quite how much it was Rakepick who had that hold on me until we were in the Vault of Fear again, and I saw my Boggart.”

Merula frowned. “Your Boggart was Rakepick?”

“Sort of, it was her, then me and my brother both turning into her. It didn’t use to be. I’m not sure when it changed exactly, but now…”

“What was it before?”

“You-Know-Who,” said Artemis, and Merula snorted derisively. “What’s so funny about that?”

“Because it’s stupid. Why would you be scared of You-Know-Who? He’s dead.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“What?”

“Nothing, just something Dumbledore said once about him not really being gone,” Artemis shook her head. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter. It’s not him that I was scared of, not really, just that he was the worst wizard I could think of. Now, Rakepick is worse. To me, anyway, because she is real and has actually hurt me.”

She wasn’t sure what it was she had said, but something seemed to have struck a chord with Merula, who now looked more thoughtful than anything.

“Did you manage to see off the Boggart?” she asked, and Artemis shrugged.

“Just about.”

Merula was silent for several seconds before nodding her head.

“Okay, Hexley. You win. I’ll come with you.”

“You will?“

“Yeah. Rakepick hasn’t got power over me. Even if she doesn’t know it, I do.”

Being interested in art, Badeea Ali was fascinated by the portrait Artemis had found in the Forest Vault the first time she visited. The painting depicted a vast field, charred in places, but no longer occupied by the dark-scaled dragon who had sat in the centre of the image when she first discovered it. Bill Weasley had managed to turn the portrait into a Portkey for them, and as the group of curse-breakers waited for the Portkey to transport them towards the next Cursed Vault, Badeea examined the painting closely.

“It’s masterfully done,” she said, tilting her head one way then another. “The way the artist has played with light and shadow. It looks very realistic, and it’s obviously aged remarkably well. Did you say you found this inside a Cursed Vault?”

“Yeah, my brother put it there,” replied Artemis. “This and a tiny jumper.”

The meaning of the small jumper was still unclear, even after Artemis had rummaged in her trunk to find it the night before and looked at it closely. She supposed that it was small enough to fit either a large house elf or small child - most likely the latter, judging by the pattern of cartoonish blue Kneazles across the chest - but its significance was still as much of a mystery to her as it had been three years earlier. 

Badeea, despite being good friends with Andre, did not seem overly interested in the jumper, significant or not, and instead continued to admire the portrait Portkey until it set off, spinning in the air with all five curse-breakers clinging on for dear life.

The Portkey carried them not to the gallery room that acted as a large antechamber to the Cursed Vault, but to a vast grassy plain, where they landed on the burnt ground beneath a bright blue sky. Artemis quickly scrambled to her feet and looked around. The landscape of the painting extended as far as the eye could see in all directions, and she had no idea where it ended.

“Great,” muttered Merula, also surveying the land. “Now where do we go, Hexley?”

Artemis glanced at Badeea. Being somewhat of an art expert, and having spent so long before they left looking at the painting, she might have an idea of how to get out of it. But Badeea looked at lost as Artemis felt. Beside her, Penny was gnawing at her lower lip, her blonde eyebrows knitted together.

“That way.”

Artemis turned to see who had spoken. Behind her, Bea Haywood was staring into the distance, her face pale and her eyes slightly glazed.

“We need to go that way,” Bea repeated. “I can feel it.”

Without another word, she began to walk. Artemis shrugged at the others before following her, and though her friends looked sceptical, they all did the same. 

The grass plains felt as if they went on forever, and Artemis wasn’t certain how long the had been walking - it might have been minutes or hours - before Beatrice stopped and pointed her finger again. Further across the plains, a large rectangle appeared to have been cut out of the air, as if there was a window floating in the distance. At first, she thought it might be a mirage, but as she squinted, she could see that through the gap, a painted wall and a pile of rubble were visible.

“That’s it, Bea! That’s where we’ll find the Vault!”

Beatrice did not respond before she started to walk once more, only stopping when they reached the window. One at a time, they stepped through the air and down onto a marble floor. Behind them, the landscape through which they had just walked was now no more than a large, gold-framed painting. 

Now, they were in a gallery, with no sunlight on their faces and no breeze in their hair. The walls of the gallery were covered in large scorch marks, and several piles of rubble were dotted around the hall. In the centre, an ancient-looking dragon lay motionless as if fast asleep; the only clue that it wasn’t merely sleeping was the fact that its chest did not rise and fall. Artemis glanced at Merula, who swallowed hard before rolling her eyes and walking away.

“This is incredible,” said Badeea, her mouth agape as she turned back to examine the painting closely, placing her hand straight through the canvas and out again, before meandering around the edges of the room to look at some of the others. Beatrice also walked over to a painting, but with purpose.

The painting Bea had chosen was unlike all the others in the room, and unlike all other magical paintings Artemis had ever seen. This one was completely still, like a Muggle picture, depicting a woman - or perhaps a witch - in very old-fashioned robes, with long red hair crowned with a ring of amber stones and a small bird perched on her index finger.

“She’s hiding the Vault,” said Beatrice, as Artemis approached her. “She doesn’t want the wrong people to find it.”

“Who doesn’t?” Badeea asked, also having made her way across to the painting that disguised the entrance to the fourth Cursed Vault. “Morgana?”

Artemis did a double take. “Who?”

“Morgana. You know, Morgan Le Fay. That’s her in the painting.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because of the iconography,” said Badeea simply. She seemed to notice Artemis’ confusion, so she explained further. “The bird represents her Animagus form, and if you look behind her, there’s a lake and an apple tree. Those symbolise her as the lady of the lake and Queen of Avalon.”

“Queen of what?”

“Avalon. It was said to be a magical island that was her legacy and greatest secret.”

“Right,” Artemis nodded. “What else do you know about her?”

“Not an awful lot really, I know more about the paintings themselves than the people they depict,” said Badeea, still looking at the painting of Morgana. “If you want to know more, you’d be better off asking some of the portraits of other wizards and witches from the era. Merlin, for example. Why?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Artemis told her. “Not right now, anyway. We came here to break a curse, right? Revelio!”

The portrait of Morgan Le Fay faded away, and in its place stood a large wooden door with a brass knocker in the shape of a dragon.

“My,” murmured Badeea, “that is interesting. Very clever, too, if you think about it.”

“What is?”

“Well, Bea said that Morgana doesn’t want the wrong people finding the Vault. It’s interesting that the Vault is behind the only Muggle painting in the whole room.”

“Yes, it does rather stand out,” said Penny, with a little high-pitched giggle.

“Yes and no. A lot of witches and wizards wouldn’t even think to look at a Muggle painting. Notions of blood purity and magical supremacy didn’t just start with You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters, you know.”

“Yeah, sure,” Artemis made a non-committal noise, all too aware that behind her, Merula was clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. She looked at the door. “Whatever you do, don’t knock. The dragon is dead, but knowing the Vaults, it might be enchanted so it comes back to life if we touch the door. It has to be done with Legilimency.”

She stepped to the side so that she was face to face with the dragon-shaped knocker, and looked it in its carved brass eyes.

Open, she told it. Go on, open up…

With a click and a loud creak, the door swung open. Beyond it lay a narrow candlelit corridor, the walls of it covered with yet more smaller frames. Artemis stepped up and through the door, followed by Bea, Penny, Merula, and finally, Badeea, who stopped and lingered at each and every painting lining the walls of the corridor.

At its end, the corridor opened into a heptagonal room, containing a single glowing column: the Cursed Vault. Each wall of the Vault bore a framed portrait of the Vault itself, so that looking at the portraits on the walls, it seemed that the Vault went on forever. Artemis avoided looking at the endless Vaults surrounding her, instead focussing her eyes on the golden column in the middle of the one she stood in. Like she had with the door, she stared at it and, using her Legilimency, willed it to open. 

It did not. 

She blinked and shook her head, ready to try again.

“Artemis,” Bea’s voice came from behind her. “Can I try?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Beatrice,” said Penny, before Artemis had a chance to answer. “Artemis’ brother got stuck in here when he tried to open the Vault.”

“He did?”

“Yeah,” Artemis nodded, and pointed her finger at the portraits of vaults lining the walls. “In those.”

“I always thought I could feel something living in the portrait with me,” said Bea. “I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were there. At first, it scared me, but then I got used to it and it felt… nice, I guess. I liked knowing that I wasn’t alone.” Her voice was soft and monotone as she stared at the crystal column and continued, “Sometimes, I felt other people, too. Coming closer on the outside. Not in the portrait, but in other places. But it wasn’t me they were close to, it was the Vaults. They’re all connected, I think. Maybe I’m connected to them too, now.”

“Bea-”

“I don’t want to be connected to them anymore.” She looked at Artemis, and the trancelike tone to her voice disappeared as she told her: “Show me how to open it.”

Artemis did so, positioning Beatrice in front of the glowing column and instructing her to stare at it, to feel it and connect with it in her mind before telling it to…

Open.

Bea’s lips mouthed the word silently, once, twice, three times. And then, the sides of the column sprang apart, and the light inside flooded into the Vault around them. 

Bea’s eyes widened, and a smile spread across her face. Behind her, Penny burst into tears.

“You did it!” she said, throwing her arms around her little sister. “Bea, you did it!” She released her hold slightly and looked Beatrice up and down. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I think I am. I will be, anyway.”

“I know,” said Penny, pulling Beatrice into another hug, one which Bea returned, burying her face into Penny’s shoulder. “I know you will. I love you.”

Bea’s words were muffled as she replied: “I love you, too.”

Later that evening, after they had apparated back to Hogsmeade and returned to the castle, Badeea took Artemis to the portrait hall, where they stopped next to the painting of Merlin, who was twirling one finger through his impossibly long white moustache.

“Excuse me, sir,” said Badeea, and Merlin frowned before looking down at her from his frame. “My friend and I were just wondering if you might be able to help us.”

“Might, indeed,” said Merlin. Artemis frowned deeply, not sure whether this was an affirmative response. “With what do you require assistance?”

“We would like to know about Morgan Le Fay.”

“Morgana?” Merlin’s white eyebrows furrowed. “Why, I am surprised that you do not know about her already. The Lady of the Lake, the Queen of Avalon... She really was the most formidable and infamous Dark Witches of our age.”

“What about before?” asked Artemis.

“Before?”

“Yeah. Before she became un-famous. We always get told about her being this all powerful dark witch, but she can’t always have been like that.”

“Can she not?”

“No,” Artemis shook her head. “No one is born bad, are they? I mean, you don’t get evil babies. So, when did she become the Dark Witch Morgana, and stop just being… a witch?”

“I am afraid that I cannot tell you for sure,” said Merlin. “However, I can tell you all about our duel at the-”

“What about how there got to be a portrait of her inside one of the Cursed Vaults? Can you tell us about that?” 

Merlin blinked, clearly disconcerted by Artemis’ question.

“You know about Morgana’s involvement in the Vaults of Truth?” he asked quietly.

“Sort of,” replied Artemis. “The centaurs told us that she foresaw a great darkness, and a way to put an end to it. We know about the prophecy she made about the person who could break the curses for good, and the enchanted arrowhead she gave the centaurs to protect them against the curses until then. What we don’t know is why there’s a portrait of her guarding one of the Vaults when she wanted to destroy them.”

Merlin shook his head, his white eyebrows knitting together.

“Sir, we aren’t asking out of pure curiosity,” Badeea told him. “We are curious, of course, but mainly we are trying to do something good and worthy, like you. There are dark witches and wizards trying to access the power inside the Vaults and use it for their own gain. We are trying to get there first, and we have nearly reached our goal. If you help us, we might well achieve it.”

“I do not shake my head because I do not wish to tell you about Morgana - though I do have my reservations about doing so,” said Merlin, with a deep sigh. “I shake my head because you have misinterpreted the information you have received.”

“How so?”

“Morgan le Fay did not seek to destroy the Vaults. Morgan le Fay created the Vaults.”

Badeea’s brown eyes widened and Artemis frowned, her mind reeling. Merlin continued:

“She and I attended Hogwarts together in our adolescence. We were here at the very beginning, you know. Taught by Salazar Slytherin himself, some of the very last students to have been taught by him, before the schism.”

“The schism?” Artemis asked.

“Don’t tell me that you don’t know about the schism, girl,” Merlin tutted. “Education these days… Salazar Slytherin left the school to the remaining three Hogwarts founders - Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff - over a dispute regarding which students were worthy of being taught magic, and which were… not.”

“Muggleborns,” whispered Badeea, her lips pursed tightly. Merlin nodded.

“Indeed. Slytherin did not wish to teach students who were not of magical lineage, Morgana included. She was the child of two Muggles - noble Muggles, mind you - but Muggles all the same,” Merlin sighed. “Slytherin was not the only one to believe that those without magical blood were inferior to pure-blooded wizards. Even after he left the castle, Morgana had to work twice as hard as our peers to be considered half as competent.” He paused and smiled wryly, before adding, “In truth, with her talents and power, she surpassed all of them. All but one, perhaps.”

“Who was that?”

“Well… me,” said Merlin, bowing his head as if he were making a modest comment. “I dare say that she was my equal. But this could be wishful thinking on my part. She truly was a most remarkable sorceress. We shall not see her likes again, for better or worse.

“I think it was her wish to prove herself and be recognised for the great witch she was - because she was a great witch, even if she was not a good one in the end - that drove her looking for greater powers, ones that exist at the very limits of what magic can achieve. And because of the snobbery she faced by her fellow witches and wizards, she was willing to look beyond the limits of the sort of magic to which our kind is more more accustomed.”

“She went to the centaurs, you mean?” said Artemis.

“Yes and no. She learned some noble and primitive forms of magic from the centaurs, including that of prophecy, as you mentioned,” Merlin replied. “However, in her efforts to foretell the future, she foresaw this darkness of which you speak, though the darkness was not that of the Vaults itself. Or perhaps it was, looking back.

“You see, once Morgana foresaw this great darkness, she redoubled her efforts to find greater powers that might be used to prevent or fight against it. At that time, she and I were one another’s trusted confidants, and thus I was the first she told after she found what she believed to be the greatest one of all.”

“What was it?” Artemis asked Merlin. “The greatest power of all, what was that?”

“She called it the ‘true’ power, but what it was exactly, she would not tell even me. She wanted to keep it a secret, to protect it. That was why she started to create the Vaults, and the enchantments to protect them. 

“At first, I tried to help her, but as time went on she became more secretive, more obsessive. Eventually, she the enchantments became curses, and dark and dangerous curses at that.” Merlin shuddered before continuing, “I attempted to make her see sense, but it was too late. She said the only thing that mattered was keeping the power safe for the right time and for the right people. The wrong people would surely resort to dark magic in order to access the power within, it was only right to resort to such things herself to ward against them. She thought that the ends justified the means, that it was for-”

“The greater good,” said Artemis, her jaw clenching slightly as the words echoed in her ears. Merlin inclined his head.

“I cannot help but wonder, however,” he said thoughtfully, seeming to speak as much to himself as to the two girls, “was the darkness Morgana foresaw a reflection of her true self? Or maybe Morgana’s ‘true’ power never was as good and pure as she believed it to be. The power it held over her drove her to darkness, after all. Perhaps, it was always just as evil and dangerous as she was herself, in the end.”

“The centaur I spoke to said that no power is either good or evil, it’s just the way witches and wizards use it that makes it so.”

“I am not certain that I agree, but I could be wrong. After all, I was wrong about Morgan Le Fay.”

Artemis tilted her head at Merlin. “What do you mean?”

But Merlin did not tell her what he meant. He just smiled sadly and shook his head, and said:

“It does not matter anymore. ‘Tis but ancient history.”

[akikocho]

There's a hc of mine about Charlie that I made it canon in my lore that him during his first year and mid 2nd year (before he joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team), he didn't tie his hair

I decided to doodle what I imagined haha

[dat-silvers-girl]

Why did Sarahi faked her death ?

I don't remember if I've ever written that down in a fic that I uploaded... Did you hear this plotline of mine among my many ramblings on YouTube?

And I'm so glad you asked this question, anon, and I'd be happy to answer. I hope you like very long answers! Here goes...

Faking her death wasn't wholly Sarahi's choice. Nor is it what she was going for.

Her intention was to just save Corey from Verucca, bring him back to Hogwarts from the Shrieking Shack, and just go AWOL for a week at most, as she ran with Jacob. But in the Shrieking Shack, Verucca cursed Sarahi, and she should have definitely died from that curse. To Verucca's knowledge, no one knew the counter-curse for the dark curse that was quickly killing Sarahi. But she didn't know that Rakepick DID know the counter-curse. Smug as hell and very proud of the fact that Rakepick would watch her favourite student die painfully, Verucca disapparated from the Shrieking Shack. Once she was gone, Rakepick perfomed the counter-curse on Sarahi, stopping the spread of the curse, and then took both Sarahi and Corey to the home of her girlfriend best friend, Adelaide Inkwell, who was a 'member' of R as well, but was secretly running a small group against R- a Rebellion, if you will.

Adelaide knew a very specific potion that would help cure Sarahi of her curse, and help deal with it's after effects. Sarahi's recovery would unfortunately be long and arduous, during which she would not have been able to defend herself or help her friends should R try to mess with them again. Eventually, once Sarahi was conscious, everyone reached the descision that it would be best for R to believe that she died in the Shrieking Shack, at least for a while. Not only would this give Sarahi the time to recover and regain her strength, it would also make it so R would no longer have a reason to target her friends. Corey agreed to this as well, and in an effort to make sure no one, including himself, had even a smidge of knowledge about where Sarahi was, elected to have his memory of the situation erased. Adelaide made sure that Corey reached near at least Hogsmeade safely, before she reluctantly erased his memory of her home and the fact that Sarahi survived. A now panicked Corey, whose last memory left was the image of a dying Sarahi, would go on to explain that Sarahi was dying when he last saw her, and that he doesn't remember how he got to Hogsmeade.

Basically, Rakepick and Adelaide, with Sarahi's permission, decided to let everyone believe that she was dead, for both her safety, and the safety of her friends. Sarahi would remain hidden in Adelaide's home/safehouse for two-and-a-half months, and the rest of the world truly believed she died.

Except Barnaby who believed that she wasn't, and after patiently waiting for Sarahi to return for two months, decided to say frick it, and went looking for her himself... Or at least he was by himself until Ismelda, Chiara, and Levi Kidd decided to invite themselves into the search party.

[smolminimonnie]

Marigold Evermoor

This is Rosemary's biological mother as you cab se she's pretty af and rosemary gets all her looks from her.

She used to go to hogwarts when she was young and her house was....well if the yellow doesn't give it away hufflepuff. (Which yellow is her favorite color). She has a brother named Oliver Evermoor (Rosemary's adopted father). Marigold when she was raising rosemary and Jacob overall was a good mother but some stuff happened that made her....unwell and she was sent to away for her safety and the kids and so her brother decided to raise her kids and give them a good life.

[indigobackfire]

I know I said the lore I came up with for the vaults was too grand for regular story and I needed to make it, an AU...

But...

I mean it doesn't have to be the definitive canon be all end all explanation, it's just for my writing and I like that there are several headcanons about it.

So, it's still under development but! A few defining points:

These aren't the only Vaults in the world.

In fact there are 7 sets of Vaults around the world at different spots, be it inside or around a magical school (not necessarily those canon schools).

The process of opening them won't happen simultaneously. But at the same time each of these schools has a Cursed One.

Something connects them and only R seems to know what. (So does the Cabal.)

Ben and Rowan... something about them... their loyalty reeks of devotion...

R stands for Revelation.

I don't know if I'll be able to pull it all off, but having a north about the Vaults makes the story way easier for me to navigate, especially since I don't want these grand details to come up until they're adults.

[avidrawsthings]

I really spent the last 2 hours working on some quick art that I'm now unsure if I should post or not...

ART IS FUN

[nicos-oc-hell]

While I’m stressing over finals, have some oc content in the form of videos and lore posts because I refuse to be near a computer outside of school until next week. Send an ask if you have questions about any of my ocs that can’t be found on their profiles or if they don’t have a profile yet.

I realized I never made like an actual post talking about Dimitri being possessed and all of his diagnoses. At the age of seven Dimitri was possessed by two spirits, a kitsune and one of his ancestors. At the age of ten he was diagnosed with Multiple Personalities Disorder (MPD, it’s the 80s so the term switch hasn’t happened yet). At the age of 14 Dimitri was bit by a werewolf.

Most of his character development is revolved around coming to terms that he can’t ignore his diagnosis, the fact that he’s a werewolf and the fact that he’s possessed by two dickhead spirits as it is all apart of him. It got pretty hard ignoring them once he realized that he would need Ricardo’s help if he was to take over the family business like his grandparents want him to.

He also had to learn how to control not only the powers he gained from Húlí, the kitsune, but also to learn how to hold back Ricardo, his many times great uncle, from taking his revenge out everyone. Then there’s the trying to figure out how to not randomly turn into a different person when he’s stressed out.

The switches were never noticeable until at least five minutes after they happened because that’s when people realized Dimitri or Damian or Volk (the werewolf) was no longer with them. It became slightly easier when Dimitri mastered his mist flames and they all started reconfiguring the body into their imagine of what they wanted to look like.

There’s six “personalities” as the psychiatrist likes to call them. In reality there’s only three personalities, Dimitri the “main” that’s just regular shmegular Dimitri with all his mental disorders. Depression, anxiety from whenever he’s near Giotto and Angelica (his father and mother), PTSD, the adhd. Faceclaim: Jabari Banks

Ricardo is the many times great uncle of Dimitri. It’s not really known how Dimitri came to be possessed by Ricardo and you can’t really take the word of a known psychopath. He takes the form of what he looked like before he died, a curly brown haired and blue eyed Italian. Faceclaim: Penn Badgley

Húlí is a kitsune who had recently “accidentally” got their previous user killed in the forest behind the Vongola mansion. Húlí attached onto the closet powerful being they could so there wouldn’t be another mishap like what had happened with the previous user. He’s not necessarily a vengeful spirit, he just loves to fuck with people and uses his powers to inconvenience others. Faceclaim: Son Woo-Hyun

Volk is what Rowen started calling Dimitri’s werewolf and it kinda just stuck. Dimitri got bit at the age of 14 while he was wandering around the expansive forest behind the mansion even after he was explicitly told to stop going back there. During the week leading up to the full moon is when Volk decides to be present and he didn’t want to be left out of all the fun of switching Dimitri’s body around. Faceclaim: Tom Welling

Trigger warning for the reasons behind Damian and Demeter’s alters

Then there’s Damian, he was formed to keep Dimitri from remembering most of his abusive history with Giotto. Damian is who mostly interrupts Dimitri’s life if he feels something could trigger Dimitri. Damian will often forth when Dimitri ever has to interact with Giotto or his mother to shield Dimitri from their abusive tendencies. He tends to take the form of a more Asian looking boy to try and connect more with his Asian side of the family. Faceclaim: Ryan Potter

Demeter, she was formed after an incident in Russia when she was 8 that she doesn’t like to talk about. She is meant to reflect the childhood Dimitri should’ve had growing up without the threat of his father having a bad day and taking his anger out on him. She takes the form of young Dimitri and her name is where Dimitri derived from. Faceclaim: Mila Davis-Kent

[hphm-jeniferltheman]

𝔚𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔫 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 ℭ𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔢𝔵𝔭𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔠𝔲𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰. 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔣𝔞𝔫 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔶 𝔭𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔤𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰: ℌ𝔬𝔤𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔐𝔶𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔶, ℌ𝔬𝔤𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔏𝔢𝔤𝔞𝔠𝔶, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔐𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔠 𝔄𝔴𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔡

So...there are more of them now and my deluluness keeps expanding their lore in my head but i want to arrange it here. If you wanna focus on certain content or which story to look at while not being lost, here it is~ i hope you're not lost as I do (`°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

🦋 𝕁𝕖𝕟𝕚𝕗𝕖𝕣𝕝 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕟- ℍ𝕠𝕘𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤 𝕄𝕪𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕪 [Main Story]

🦋ℂ𝕚𝕖𝕝 𝕊𝕒𝕞𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕄𝕒𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟- ℍ𝕠𝕘𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤 𝕃𝕖𝕘𝕒𝕔𝕪 [ Side Story of the Past]

🦋ℍ𝕚𝕨𝕒𝕘𝕒 ℂ𝕠𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕣- 𝕄𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕔 𝔸𝕨𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕕 [ Side Story of the Future]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🦋𝕺𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖘🦋~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HPHM MC Collection Jeniferl with Friends(other HPHM MCs) Jeniferl in other Art Style (Fanarts)

Will still continue to update in the future ~~

[carewyncromwell]

“I'll take your bad days with your good -- Walk through the storm, I would -- I do it all because I love you...”

x~x~x~x

HPHM Cardverse developed by @ariparri​​​​ ❤️

x~x~x~x

However close Carewyn became to the people who would become her King and Ace, her dearest friend in the Kingdom of Hearts, and her closest confidante, was the woman who would become the Jack of Hearts -- the soft-spoken and modest, but surprisingly nurturing and stubborn Chiara Lobosca.

The two women went to university around the same time and shared several classes together, including Statistics and Social Sciences. They didn’t truly collide, however, until a day over summer break, when Carewyn finally had the time and money needed for the train so she could take a trip to the capitol. It was the first time she’d really had any time to explore the capitol of Hearts on her own, and although she didn’t have much money for shopping, she wanted to see what it’d be like to window shop on these streets, compared to the ones back home in Spades. Pretty much immediately she was charmed by the beautiful displays of silk gowns and tailored suits for sale -- it was little wonder that everyone at the university gave her the side eye for always wearing plain black and white dresses, considering just how colorful and decorative most of Hearts’s wares were. The Country of Spades was often very modest and utilitarian in its color palettes, however intricate its clothing could be in types of fabrics and patterns, and as much as lot of the fashion Carewyn saw in Hearts was over-the-top and flashy, it was certainly eye-catching.

As Carewyn made her way through the capitol, though, her peaceful day was interrupted by some commotion in the street. A blond-haired young man was stumbling his way down the street, haranguing everyone who got near him -- most of the passerby assumed he was some madman, judging by his torn black clothes and crazed wide eyes as he screamed nonsense words at everyone -- but he was visibly limping and looked half-starved. Only one person had been brave enough to push through the crowd over to him -- a young woman with white-blond hair dressed in a colorful vest and patterned bloomers -- and she was struggling to calm the man enough to bandage his injury.

“It’s all right,” she tried to soothe him. “You’re safe now -- here...let me take a look at that...”

But the man just kept babbling.

“No, no! Gotta -- gotta keep going! Can’t stop -- gotta run -- can’t stop -- can’t stop, or she’ll stop me -- can’t stop -- can’t stop -- ”

But the poor young man was so hysterical and weak he could hardly stand. He lost his footing and fell. The light-haired woman tried to help him up -- Carewyn, seeing that she was having trouble, immediately darted out to help her help the man up.

“It’s all right -- we’ve got you,” Carewyn told the man gently.

The white-blond-haired woman looked up at Carewyn, a bit startled. The man wriggled in their grip, his eyes very wide.

“No! No, no! You’re taking me to her -- you work for her -- !”

“Don’t worry,” Carewyn told the man very firmly. “We don’t work for her. We just want to help you.”

The man was so anxious he was having trouble taking this in, but he stilled in their arms. Carewyn turned to the other woman with a pointed look, and she nodded, taking his focus on Carewyn as the distraction she needed to examine the man’s leg.

“You’re in the Kingdom of Hearts,” Carewyn told the man. “She can’t reach you here.”

The man was shaking uncontrollably. “No -- no, she said -- she said no one can run -- no one can run -- must run -- must -- ”

“She can say whatever she wants, but that doesn’t mean it’s true,” Carewyn told him fiercely.

She brought a comforting hand down onto his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she said more gently. “I’m from Spades too. She hasn’t been able to chase me here either.”

The trembling man stared at her, his face very white. “...She...hasn’t?”

“No,” said Carewyn very firmly.

“I...don’t have to run?”

“Not anymore.”

It was like this single reassurance was heaven-sent. The man’s face crumpled up like paper, losing the rest of its color as well as all of its fear, and he collapsed into the two women’s arms, breaking down in sobs of relief. 

The white-blond-haired woman turned to Carewyn.

“Come on,” she told her. “The hospital isn’t too far from here -- we can take him there.”

Carewyn nodded. The two women brought the man’s arms up and over their shoulders, so that they could carry him together down the street.

x~x~x~x

They journeyed together down ten blocks before finally reaching the hospital. When they arrived, the nurses greeted the other woman very warmly.

“Chiara! We were expecting you an hour a -- good Heavens!”

The Head Nurse immediately rushed over to help Carewyn and Chiara with the man they were carrying.

“His leg’s completely dislocated,” said Chiara gravely. “He’s bleeding internally, but only because his muscles seem to be slowly ripping out of his skin -- I think he must’ve stumbled through the Joker’s Domain on the way here, for his injuries to make so little sense...”

“Get him to the Lahire Ward,” the Head Nurse barked at the others. “Quickly.”

The young man was brought to the severe trauma ward and the nurses there immediately set to work treating him. Chiara was right there in the thick of things, helping the nurses fetch things -- Carewyn, for her part, stayed right beside the patient, talking soothingly to him as they worked.

Upon taking off his coat, they found a worn-out, water-stained card that identified him as Levi Kidd. It was eventually decided that the damage to Levi’s leg was too extensive and irreversible, and if the nurses wanted to prevent the rest of his body from similarly turning inside out, his leg would have to be amputated. Carewyn sat by the young man’s bedside during the entire surgery, holding his hand. When Levi awoke after the surgery and saw the space where his leg had been, the poor boy burst into tears and sobbed for close to an hour.

After the surgery, Chiara returned to the hospital with a couple of sandwiches in hand. She arrived just in time to hear a warm, sweet voice echoing softly through the wall of the Lahire Ward.

“But come ye back when summer's in the meadow, Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow, It's I'll be there in sunshine or in shadow -- Oh, Danny boy...oh Danny boy...I love you so...”

All of the patients in the surrounding beds had quieted, with many of them leaning over so as to hopefully better hear the song. Quite a few had their eyes closed, but others were wide awake and smiling softly, even despite all of the discomfort of their injuries. It made Chiara smile, seeing all of the patients she knew looking so at peace, and she strode up to the Lahire Ward with a more confident stride. When she opened the door, she found Carewyn sitting at their patient’s bedside -- the blond young man had finally fallen off to sleep, no doubt soothed by the ginger-haired woman’s voice.

“Thank you for staying with Levi,” Chiara said, once she’d given Carewyn one of the two sandwiches she’d bought and they’d started to eat. “I’m sure you had a full day of your own planned...but the nurses and I are really grateful.”

“How could I do anything else?” Carewyn asked. “Sure, I don’t know him, but...well, he needed help.”

Chiara smiled.

“Yes, he did,” she agreed softly.

She paused, considering her next words carefully.

“Earlier...back in the street...you told him that ‘she’ couldn’t follow him here. Do you know who he was talking about?”

Carewyn’s lips came together grimly. Her gaze shifted out the closest window.

“...Yes,” she said at last. “Or, at least, I surmised who it had to be. His clothes are torn, but the vest is typical to the kind courtiers in the Country of Spades wear. My brother wore one just like it.”

Chiara blinked twice, startled. “Courtiers? Do you think this man works for the court of Spades, then?”

“The Ace, most likely,” Carewyn said very coldly.

Her eyes narrowed a bit upon Levi, her eyes a muddled mix of grimness and concern. Chiara considered Carewyn carefully, tilting her head a bit like a curious dog -- then she glanced down at the patient in bed again.

“I don’t know much about the Country of Spades or its politics,” she said very quietly, looking up at Carewyn out the top of her eye, “but I remember when the Knave of Hearts took over two hundred years ago...well, there were many who fled the Kingdom, seeking sanctuary elsewhere...many in the Joker’s Domain, and others to Diamonds or Spades...”

Carewyn nodded. “The Ace has taken charge of things in the King’s stead, since his death. That power is usually split between the Ace and Jack, with the Jack dealing with domestic affairs and the Ace dealing with the machinations of the military, but Duncan Ashe has had an uphill battle trying to wrench control of Rakepick’s hands.”

“Duncan Ashe is your Jack?” asked Chiara. Carewyn nodded.

“He and King Coby were always close -- if anyone should run things in his stead, it’s him. But Rakepick and the army view the whole situation differently. They argue that Coby’s assassins targeted him because of his and Duncan’s more ‘relaxed’ approach to governance, and so a strong hand is needed to ‘correct’ what’s gone wrong.”

Chiara considered this. “Hm...and yet too strong of a hand can make people revolt. That’s why the Knave of Hearts was able to take over in the first place -- when the Queen’s mental health began to deteriorate and her justice became too ruthless, he decided that she and the King were no longer fit to rule.”

“And so he ‘stole the tarts,’” Carewyn said with a slight wry smile.

Chiara nodded.

“Your name is Carewyn, right?” she asked after a moment.

“Yes. Carewyn Cromwell.”

Chiara smiled. “Well, I’m really glad you were here for Levi, Carewyn. If you want to come back and visit again, you can always travel with me -- the train conductor and I have some history, I’m sure she won’t mind if you come with me sometimes.”

Carewyn was hesitant at first, but -- thinking of Levi’s connection to the court of Spades and therefore to her brother -- she finally put on a polite smile and nodded.

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

x~x~x~x

And so over the course of the next week, Carewyn and Chiara would take the train from the university to the capitol and then walk together toward the hospital. Their journeys together gave the two women time to talk and connect, and they soon found they really enjoyed each other’s company. Carewyn learned how Chiara had spent a lot of her own childhood at this very hospital, since she’d been a very frail and sickly girl, so now that she was well, she wanted to give back as much as she could. Chiara learned about Carewyn’s mother and brother back home in the Country of Spades and of how they had been intending to join her in Hearts as soon as it was safe to leave.

When Levi’s condition improved and his sanity slowly returned, he told Carewyn about the state of affairs in the Country of Spades -- how border security was getting tighter and tighter, and how tensions between the Ace and Jack were escalating. Many in Duncan’s confidence were convinced that the Ace may have even had something to do with what happened to King Coby.

“I remember one day one of the Jack’s subordinates got right up in the Ace’s face and accused her of trying to ‘emulate the Knave,’” Levi said with a wince. “Madam Ace shot back at him that he had no place to speak of loyalty to one’s country when he shipped his own sister across the border all alone.”

Although Carewyn came to the hospital to visit Levi, however, her returns were always marked with the other patients asking to see her. It seemed that many of them had enjoyed her singing from her first visit, and so had dearly hoped she would sing some more. The nurses thought it’d be a lovely way to bring some sunshine to the ward, so after some coaxing, Carewyn went around to several wards during her visits to sing for them. Some favorites of the patients in the ward were songs like “Till the Clouds Roll By” and “Look for the Silver Lining.”

It was right before their hospital visit at the end of this week, however, that Chiara met Carewyn with some exciting news.

“The Head Nurse, Madam Pomfrey, has asked me to escort her to the Palace of Hearts,” she said. Her modest, sweet voice seemed to be tearing in the seams in her excitement.

"The Palace?” said Carewyn, startled.

“She wants me to help her treat the Queen,” Chiara explained. “She’s been suffering from chronic gout -- nothing life-threatening, but incredibly painful...but I’ve been doing some research in the university’s library about possible treatments, and I think that applying ginger to the affected areas would do wonders, in easing the Queen’s discomfort.”

“Ginger is supposed to be good with dealing with inflammation,” Carewyn recalled. “I remember Jacob doing several studies with it, while working for Duncan.”

Chiara nodded eagerly. “It seems to be a common remedy in the Land of Clubs, as well...but anyway, that’s why Madam Pomfrey wants me there, to help with the Queen’s treatment.”

Carewyn’s eyes lit up. “That’s wonderful news, Chiara! I’m so happy your talents are being recognized.”

Chiara’s cheeks warmed with a light blush. “Thank you, Carewyn...”

She paused, before pressing on a bit more bravely, “Carewyn...will you come with me, to see the Queen?”

Carewyn blinked.

“I know you’ve come to see Levi,” said Chiara, “but Madam Pomfrey said that the Queen’s been confined to her bed for nearly three days now, and I gather she hasn’t been in good spirits. I’m sure she’d really enjoy it if you came and sang for her -- and it might be easier for me to apply the topical treatment, if the Queen is distracted.”

Carewyn considered this. Chiara was right -- as kindly as many people viewed her actions for Levi and the other patients, she came to the hospital to see Levi largely for her own benefit: so she could learn more about what was going on back home, and hopefully pinpoint a way to make contact with Jacob or her mother. But at the same time, Chiara had been a very good friend to her, and Carewyn could sense how important this opportunity to help the Queen of Hearts was to her. She felt terrible at the thought of not helping Chiara with something that meant so much to her.

So Carewyn smiled and nodded.

“Okay. I’ll come with you.”

x~x~x~x

The Palace of Hearts was a gorgeous, stately place -- every inch a shrine to the grandeur and power of nobility. Carewyn didn’t think she’d ever see a place quite so grandiose again: it simultaneously made her stare in wide-eyed wonder and wince at the thought of just how many people the money behind such a structure could’ve fed.

No way to earn back the money this must’ve cost, though, she thought, as her eyes ran over the intricately carved, gold-lined banisters. Even if you ripped out and sold off all the gems and precious metals, the labor that went into creating this place...that’d be priceless.

Madam Pomfrey, Chiara, and Carewyn were escorted to a private wing of the palace, where the Queen of Hearts reclined in a luxurious bed with scarlet velvet drapings. Carewyn felt horribly under-dressed standing before the Queen -- even though the older, dark-haired woman was dressed only in a silk dressing gown, her hair was tied up elegantly and her ears and neck were decked with pearls.

“So you must be Chiara Lobosca,” said the Queen, regarding Chiara with a fond smile that brought out both the dimples and wrinkles in her cheeks. “Madam Pomfrey has spoken so glowingly of you.”

Chiara blushed. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

The Queen turned her focus to Carewyn curiously. “And who is this?”

“This is Carewyn Cromwell, your Majesty,” said Chiara. “She’s my friend.”

The Queen’s eyes lit up with interest. “Cromwell? As in the Cromwell Clan jewelers?”

Carewyn inclined her head politely, even as her gaze drifted away uncomfortably. “They’re my mother’s family...though I’m afraid we don’t converse with them. We’re from the Country of Spades, you see.”

“Really?” said the Queen, interested. “And now you’re here in Hearts. I can imagine you must’ve been quite a culture shock, coming here.”

Carewyn put on her best smile. “It is very different, your Excellency...but your Kingdom is very beautiful. And I’ve made good friends here, as well.”

She glanced at Chiara out the side of her eye, and the other woman beamed with pride through her flush.

“I actually invited Carewyn because she likes to sing to our patients, back at the hospital,” Chiara said brightly. “I thought it might make your treatment a bit more enjoyable.”

The Queen looked delighted. “Oh, what a splendid idea! Declan and I do so enjoy the theater, whenst we’re able to go...”

Chiara immediately set to work mixing together the ginger paste needed as Carewyn approached the Queen’s bed.

“Take a seat, Carewyn,” said the Queen, indicating a small velvet stool. “Do you know any of Judith et Charles?”

Carewyn faltered. “Oh...no, your Grace, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Oh, it’s a lovely opera,” sighed the Queen. “It chronicles the tale of the supposed Mad Queen and her King, deposed by the Knave of Hearts...I presume you know that tale?”

“Yes,” said Carewyn. “The Queen of Hearts in her old age began to lose her mind, and in violent rages, began to order executions of all those who spoke against her. The King would imprison and then quietly pardon each man she ordered the execution of so as to pacify both her and the Kingdom, but the damage was done. The Jack of Hearts used the public’s indignation and lack of faith in their rulers to supplant them -- taking control of the multiple prisons where the Queen’s victims were housed -- and, in doing so, became the Knave of Hearts.”

“Indeed,” said the Queen. She hadn’t even seemed to notice that Chiara was starting to apply ginger paste to her injured leg. “But the tragedy of the whole affair was how deeply and sincerely the King and Queen loved each other, all the while. The King stood by the Queen, even in the height of her insanity, because the Kingdom at that time demanded lifetime appointments for its monarchs, and he knew that his Queen was suffering just as much herself, trapped in her own mind with no escape. Even when King Charles was given the opportunity to abandon his Queen to the Knave’s forces, he chose to die by her side.”

The Queen’s expression softened.

“Yes, perhaps their leadership wasn’t the best...but I’d like to think that in another life, perhaps they would’ve been able to retire and find happiness together, as ordinary people living quiet, unremarkable lives.”

Carewyn considered this. “...Mm, perhaps. But their people did deserve better. The Knave was wrong in his methods, and his cruelty once he had power was unforgivable...but he was right, to think they were unfit for leadership. That’s what Jacks and Aces are supposed to be for -- to provide that oversight, to check unfettered authority.”

“Indeed,” said the Queen. “And Kings, Queens, Jacks, and Aces being selected on merit as opposed to appointed by ancestry helps provide further oversight, from the people themselves.”

“Perhaps,” said Carewyn, “but only if the people’s voices can all be heard. People’s voices are often magnified by their connections, but those connections often come about because of privileges that not everyone has access to.”

“True,” said the Queen. “Equality is something we can all aspire to, I think. Declan likes to say that a King’s voice should only ever be as strong as one of his citizen’s.”

“Yes, but at the same time, not all voices should be given the same weight, in all situations,” Carewyn pressed on. “Although a King’s voice should be equal to those of his citizens when it comes to how much one should pay in taxes, we must listen to voices with relevant knowledge when it’s needed. When someone’s injured, a doctor’s voice is more important to hear than anyone else’s.”

“So you believe that sometimes one voice is more important than others?” asked the Queen.

"Not more important, just more helpful in dealing with the task at hand,” said Carewyn. “And hopefully, if education is promoted and that relevant knowledge is made more accessible, everyone’s voices will be better trained and better informed in the future.”

The Queen cocked her eyebrows with interest.

“I must say, Carewyn, if your singing is as passionate as your politics, I think I will quite enjoy it,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

She flourished her hand in something of an invitation.

“Come -- why don’t you sing me one of your favorite songs? I’m very interested to hear what you choose.”

The wrinkles in her eyes and smile were dusted with a strange kind of mischief that made her look younger than she had before.

Carewyn smiled. “...All right.”

And so she sang for the Queen as Chiara worked. The song Carewyn chose was one she’d sung quite a bit herself when she was alone, whenever she was most missing her mother and brother.

“I'm always chasing rainbows, Watching clouds drifting by -- My schemes are just like all my dreams, Ending in the sky...

Some fellows look and find the sunshine -- I always look and find the rain... Some fellows make a winning sometime -- I never even make a gain, believe me... I'm always chasing rainbows, Waiting to find a little bluebird in vain...”

By the time Carewyn was finished, the Queen’s treatment was finished. Even so, the Queen extended her hands to take hold of both of Carewyn’s.

“Thank you for your company, my dear,” she said warmly. “I hope you won’t mind if I call on you again, sometime soon?”

Carewyn was startled. “Oh -- ah...of course not, your Excellency.”

“Queen Rosalie will do,” said the Queen fondly. She glanced at Chiara. “That goes for you as well, Chiara. I hope you’ll be present for my next round of treatments, should I need them?”

“Of course, your Majesty,” Chiara said at once, flushing happily at the request.

“Wonderful.”

Queen Rosalie turned back to Carewyn, her dark eyes that bit more gentle.

“Until next we meet,” she said kindly. “I hope that that little bluebird you’ve been seeking comes to roost with you soon.”

Carewyn smiled and nodded politely. “Thank you.”

And as if an omen of good things to come, as she, Chiara, and Madam Pomfrey left the Palace and the dimming sunlight of the late afternoon bounced off the castle’s exterior windows, Carewyn could see dozens of tiny rainbows winking back at her.

[morningstar-chronicles]

pinned.

name: maddyx, but you can also call me madi or star!

current interests: the arcana (game), tarot and other forms of divination, witchcraft, the owl house, shifting!!

pronouns & gender identity: she/xe/ze/he/they, agender bigender girlboy idk dont ask questions pls im having a crisis over here

rules:

don't be a bigot

don't be an asshole

NO israel-palestine asks. why don't i allow these anymore?

anti-shifters keep scrolling

shiftokkers are welcome i guess if you promise to be normal

if you have any questions about my DRs PLS PLS ASK!!! i love to answer asks about my DRs literally so much!!

you can absolutely use my script layouts! i'll link them here if you'd like to use them.

dividers are usually from @cafekitsune and will be reblogged as #dividers

sometimes i post content with sexual undertones lmao 😭 these posts will be tagged as #minors avert your eyes

DR names: hale (toh DR), eliana (pjo DR), riley (fnaf DR), morgan (DC DR), abella (miraculous DR), braelynn (mcu DR), izabel (royals DR), phoenix/fae (old hp DR), cassia/cassie/cass (marauders DR), riley (fnaf DR)

MAIN DR: chillin' DR

archived DRs: the london institute (tid), royals DR, rosewood, pa (pll), fnaf:sb DR - child, boarding school DR, hogwarts - golden trio era (hp), resort DR, windenshire DR, encanto DR, hurricane, ut (fnaf), liar, liar DR, columbia DR, second chance DR, alt CR timeline

active DRs: waiting room, boiling isles (toh), crossover DR, ny institute (tmi), hogwarts - marauders era (hp), paris, france (mlb), stark tower (mcu), gotham, nj (dc), stardew valley, bc, gravity falls (gf), inheritance games DR, aurora cycle DR, camp half-blood, ny (pjo), arcana DR, cirque du soleil DR, fnaf:sb DR - technician

main DR s/os: jayden finnegan, aven whitmore

DR s/os: *hunter wittebane-noceda (toh), *boscha bennett (toh), jayden finnegan (oc), aven whitmore (oc), *pacifica northwest (gf), *via scully (pr), *tyrone pines (gf), *james potter (hp), *harley keener (mcu), *kit herondale (tda), *michael afton (fnaf), alex aiden mullner (sdv), haley (sdv), shane (sdv), sam (sdv), *luke castellan (pjo), abby bourgeois, julian agreste, mika couffaine, *emira blight (toh), *leo valdez (hoo), *conner kent (dc), *garfield logan (dc), asra alnazar, muriel the outsider

possible DR s/os: *livia blackthorn (tda), *draco malfoy (hp), *pansy parkinson (hp), *michelle jones (mcu), *shuri (mcu), *merula snyde (hphm), *edric blight (toh), xander hawthorne (tig), jameson hawthorne (tig), *tyler jones (ac)

* - has been aged up/down depending on how you look at it (possibly significantly depending on canon)

other blogs: @ohgodimashifter (old shifting sideblog), @thestarsandskyaboveus (fanfic), @stembies (studyblr), @enbygirlblogging (girlblogging), @mysticmorningstar (witchcraft & wicca)

lore: canadian, keeps bread outside of fridge, hates pickleball, was a pole dancer briefly, anti-jean paul